


It'll All Be Clear (So Call Me Maybe)

by auroreanrave



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, Karaoke, M/M, Music, Open-Mic Night, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 17:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9777731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: Spencer finds himself in a rut before discovering an open-mic night...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys. I was having a bit of a Glee moment after not spending any time in the fandom for a couple of years, and decided to write something sweet and musical for a real rare ship favourite of mine. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Title comes from Phillip Phillips' "Home" and Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe", the reasons for which become evident in the fic.

Spencer finds himself in a rut.

His life, post-college, is a bit too well-trodden for his liking. Every weekday morning he goes for a run, around the park ten minutes from his apartment, spying the same faces making their dawn circuits; then it's a shower and oatmeal and a protein shake and heading to work where he pushes papers and organises meetings in a semi-expensive suit and spends his lunch breaks eating his salads watching the birds and the people so by, the sounds of comedy skits from his phone in his ears, before trudging back to work, to the gym, to his occasional one night stands, and his cheap sheets, and his bad night's sleep.

One morning, however, he spots a flyer in the break room; emblazoned blue and bold, it advertises an open mic night for singers. Spencer was a good singer back in high school and college, but he's never chased the dream of global success. He's missed it though. Singing Springsteen and Gaga into his showerhead isn't quite the same as the rush, the thrill in the blood of a live, thriving audience.

He turns up, after work, hair still damp from the gym shower, to find the place - a shabby but clean and cheerful bar - half-full. He orders a rum and Coke, then a second one, and is scoping out where he signs up for some songs, when he hears a voice, quiet and nervous, from the stage.

"This is, uh... this is 'Home'."

The stage fills with sound, and Spencer has to choke back a sip of his drink because the guy starts singing, and it's like nothing he's heard live before. It's like liquid butterscotch, buttery-soft and gravelly in parts, worn away like sandpaper on wood, and it sounds amazing.

Spencer turns towards the stage. The guy in question is big - tall and heavy-set, husky - and in a horrible cowboy shirt and better jeans. His glasses look as if they're at danger of sliding off his nose and bouncing off the microphone completely, but Spencer couldn't give a damn. A voice like that? It needs the best money can buy - not awful rodeo flannel and cheap frames.

The song comes to a swirling, soaring end, and the guy meets Spencer's gaze from across the room, probably judging by the big grin Spencer's sporting. The guy leaves the stage to a cascade of applause, and heads over towards Spencer and the bar.

"Hey," the guy nods in greeting as Spencer watches him closely, smiling.

"You sound amazing," Spencer says, for lack of anything else.

"Thanks," the guy replies, blushing as he accepts a beer from the bartender. Spencer wants to eat him up and bury himself between those large, firm thighs, to dress him in fine suits and soft sheets and to spend a lifetime listening to him sing and speak and laugh.

"Do you sing?" the guy asks, and Spencer breaks out of his thoughts to nod.

"Not since college. You?"

"Not professionally. I love doing it though."

"I meant what I said. You're amazing. I could listen to you all night."

"You use that line on all the boys?"

"Only the ones that have voices like actual angels. Which, by my account, is only you."

The blush deepens and the guy takes a sip of his beer.

"I'm Spencer," Spencer says, holding out his hand, and the guy shakes it back after a moment. "Roderick."

"Nice to meet you, Roderick. I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink sometime. Or coffee or dinner or whatever." Spencer is never this formal, never this effusive. He hasn't needed to ask anyone out since freshman year of college - not only because of his growing confidence, but also because he hadn't been on a proper date since.

"Can I ask why?"

"Because you're cute and sing amazingly well and I just... gut feeling?" Spencer finishes, lamely. "Why else do you ask people out on dates?"

"Not really had enough to make a hypothesis," Roderick says, lightly. "Anyway, are you gonna sing or what?"

Spencer pauses, then grins. "If I sing, and you're impressed, then we get each other's numbers, and you go on at least one coffee date with me."

Roderick smiles and leans in. "And if I'm not?"

Spencer shrugs. "Then I pay for your beer and we never have to see each other again if you don't want. Sound fair?"

"Alright," Roderick says. "Show me what you got."

Ten minutes later, when Spencer takes the stage, he locks eyes with Roderick from across the bar, Spencer's blood singing with excitement. When the beats kick in, and "Call Me Maybe" kicks in, to raucous jeers and laughter, he sees the corners of Roderick's eyes crinkle and his smile broaden.

He ends up paying for Roderick's beer for the evening, but he also leaves with Roderick's number, a coffee and dinner date planned for the upcoming weekend, and the warm impression of Roderick's lips on his cheek. Spencer walks the way home, with a blissed-out smile on his face, and has the best night's sleep of his life.


End file.
